I can't explain it. Over the last several weeks, I've just felt this palpable tug to write. I have all these ideas crowding around in my brain, practically begging to get out. I have no idea, in the grand scheme of things, if I'll ever really publish my book. I don't know if I'm brave enough to. But I do know that whatever else I do in my dumb old life, that writing has to be a part of it.
And, it hit me. I can't write when it's just me and the kids. Delving into my book requires too much energy and brain power, and I can't seem to divide it between that and my kids. So I saved my pathetic start at the book, scooped her up, and dejectedly took her downstairs. And then I just LOST it - like full on, crying and mad and frustrated LOST IT. I wanted to write, dammit. I wanted to do just ONE THING that wasn't about my kids, but about me. Just one thing that didn't involve caring for them, or cooking for them, or cleaning up after them. And I couldn't do it.
So of course, once I started feeling bad for myself, I couldn't stop. I started to think about how I had a whole summer stretching ahead of me, and that the entire summer was going to be all about my kids, and not about me. Call me selfish, I don't care. I have never regretted my decision to become a mother yet, and I don't think I ever will, but I'd not be human if I didn't sometimes miss the days when I had all the time in the world to myself. Today, I just thought, every day, every second is devoted to my kids. I can't even go to the bathroom without Mila following me in. And, when summer ends, and Cade goes back to school, I don't get a break - because then Baby R will be here. And of course while I am entirely thrilled for his imminent arrival, I am also scared crazy to be a mom of 3 rambunctious kids.
So I IM'ed Brandon in quite a state. Just vented the crap out of everything to him; I feel bad. I got quite dramatic, I'm sure, and told him about how I was doomed to sit on my fat pregnant butt all summer for hours on end watching Spongebob because we don't have much money to take the kids on outings, nor do we yet have a yard where I can send the kids out to play. And I told him how sad I was that I couldn't even sit down for 30 minutes to write. I was sad. Terribly sad.
And so now, here I am, not knowing what to do. I am a Mother, first and always, but I also wish I could be more - or, rather, that I could be both a Writer and a Mother. I know that I shouldn't give up, and that I can always find time to write, maybe after the kids have gone to bed, and this is true. But it is also very true, and I will not be the first mother, nor the last, who has had to give up some grand dream with the daily monotony of changing diapers and wiping messy faces. And yes, it's true, that in exchange for doing all that yucky stuff, I get kisses and hugs from my kids, and I get to watch Mila's naked little bum running around after her bath, and I get to look at Cade's sweet little grin with his missing tooth, I still miss More.
I miss my dreams.
And that's all I'll bombard you with tonight. Just a heavy weight on my mind, that I wanted to try to ease a bit before I headed to bed. Thanks for reading, friends.